An Elusive Desire

by Anne Mather

  ‘I suppose my dear mother-in-law told you that,’ Nicola sniffed. ‘Now you can understand why I didn’t want the old witch to come here. I knew she’d try to poison your mind against me.’

  Jaime was astounded. ‘Nicola, you can’t honestly expect Raf’s mother to condone what you’ve done!’

  ‘Why not? Lorenzo’s her husband’s son, just as much as Raf is.’

  Jaime felt sick. ‘So you did know!’

  ‘Of course. It’s common knowledge. Ever since Raf took him on as chauffeur, he’s made no secret of it.’

  ‘Oh, Nicola—–’

  ‘Don’t be such a prig, Jaime. Your life hasn’t been so blameless you can criticise me for making one mistake.’

  ‘One mistake!’

  ‘All right, two, then,’ exclaimed Nicola incredibly. ‘I suppose that old woman told you about Antonio Ponti. Well, the child wasn’t his, no matter what she says.’

  Jaime swallowed convulsively. So this was what the Contessa had hinted at. There had been another man, before Lorenzo Costa. And that relationship had ended in tragedy, with the death of Rafaello’s son.

  ‘Well?’ Nicola didn’t like Jaime’s silence, and was quick to justify herself. ‘I couldn’t help it that I lost the baby, could I? The roads around here are dangerous—I’ve told Raf so, a hundred times. If we’d been living in Rome, as I wanted, I wouldn’t have lost the child. But Antonio was driving too fast, and—–’

  Jaime put a trembling hand to her throat. ‘But why, Nicola? Why?’

  ‘Why what? Why did I lose the child? I should have thought that was obvious. We crashed—–’

  ‘I mean, why did you do it? You married Raf, Nicola! You wanted to marry him. For heaven’s sake, what went wrong?’

  Nicola sniffed again. ‘I told you—I hate it here. I hate it! There’s no fun; there’s nothing to do—–’

  ‘But you knew that before you married Raf.’

  ‘How could I? He was different in London. He seemed dangerous, and exciting; and I was bored!’

  Jaime shook her head. She didn’t want to hear any more. It was all so much worse than she had imagined, and remembering the way she had accused Rafaello of causing the servants to lose respect for her, she felt bitterly ashamed.

  ‘Anyway,’ went on Nicola carelessly, ‘you can’t talk. You didn’t stay here very long, did you? You soon made an excuse to leave.’

  ‘I didn’t make an excuse, Nicola—–’

  ‘Okay, so you left anyway. The fact remains, you wouldn’t want to be locked up in a castle for the rest of your life!’

  Jaime moistened her lips. If only she had the chance, she thought despairingly. She knew she would give everything she possessed to have the chance to start again.

  ‘So,’ Nicola accepted her silence as answer enough, ‘you’ll be pleased to hear that your visit did some good, after all.’

  ‘Some good?’ Jaime felt numb.

  ‘Yes.’ Nicola hesitated. ‘Raf’s finally agreed that I can live at the apartment in Rome. It’s a sort of compromise, really. He knows he can’t divorce me, but he doesn’t want me to have the baby at Vaggio. So he’s letting me live at the apartment, at least until after the baby is due, and it will give us both a chance to get things into perspective.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘It’s all thanks to you,’ went on Nicola comfortably. ‘I mean, I thought he was going to throw me out, and to hell with his religion. But you must have said something that struck a responsive chord. This morning he told me his decision, and as you can imagine, I was delighted. I’m leaving at the end of the week, and I just wanted you to know that I’m grateful!’

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘MISS FORSTER, there’s been a telephone call for you.’

  ‘Oh, damn!’ Jaime looked up from the balance sheets she had been studying with uncharacteristic impatience. She had spent the morning closeted with the designer Martin had chosen to produce plans for the proposed new fashion line, and since they had not been able to agree, she was in no mood to be distracted now. ‘Look, whoever calls, tell them I’ll get back to them, Diane,’ she declared, pushing the spectacles she had been forced to acquire two months before up her nose. ‘I’ve got to get these finished by five o’clock, and I want to leave early because of that dinner at the Dorchester.’

  ‘It was your housekeeper, actually, Miss Forster,’ said Diane purposefully, unwilling to take her dismissal. ‘I told her you were busy, but she insisted I give you the message.’

  ‘What message?’ Jaime lifted her head again, an unpleasant feeling of coldness gripping the pit of her stomach. It had taken six months for her to at last stop quaking every time her home telephone rang, but now, hearing that it was Mrs Purdom on the other end of the line, she was experiencing that familiar sense of panic. It couldn’t be Nicola, she told herself severely, not after all this time. But the feeling persisted, all the same.

  ‘She said to tell you, you had a visitor, Miss Forster,’ Diane explained smoothly. ‘A-a Signora di Vaggio. Would that be the same Signora di Vaggio who rang you before?’

  It was Nicola! Jaime’s mouth dried up, causing an awful constricted feeling in her throat. Dear God, what did Nicola want now? Surely she must have had the baby. What earthly reason could she have for going to the apartment unannounced? She must have known Jaime would be at work, so why hadn’t she contacted her there?

  Aware that Diane was waiting for some response, Jaime cleared her throat. ‘Oh—I—yes. Yes, I expect it is,’ she murmured, wondering if she looked as shaken as she felt. ‘Did—er—did Mrs Purdom say anything else?’

  ‘Only that she thought you would like to know about the lady, Miss Forster. I suppose she expects you to go home and see her.’

  Jaime chewed helplessly at her lower lip. ‘Yes,’ she said, absently, ‘yes, perhaps she does.’ Then she sighed. ‘Oh, lord! What am I going to do?’

  ‘Well, I could finish checking those sheets for you, Miss Forster,’ Diane offered tentatively. ‘And you do have at least three hours before you need start for the dinner.’

  Jaime expelled her breath on a sound half of hysteria. Of course, Diane assumed she was worried about her business appointments. Fortunately, she hadn’t associated Jaime’s plea for assistance from a higher authority with her unexpected visitor.

  ‘You’re right,’ Jaime said now, coming to a decision. ‘There’s nothing so desperately urgent that it can’t wait another day. Don’t worry about the balance sheets, Diane. I’ll get back to them tomorrow. Just get me Mr Longman on the phone, would you? I must keep him informed of what I’m doing.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Forster.’

  Diane went away, and presently the intercom buzzed to announce that she had Martin Longman for her. ‘Putting you through,’ she said, pressing switches, and presently Martin’s deeper tones proclaimed his presence at the other end of the line.

  ‘Did you have a problem?’ he asked goodhumouredly, and Jaime was glad she had not caught him on a bad day. ‘I hear from Steve Berlitz that you weren’t too enamoured of his drawings. I think perhaps you were a little hasty. I rather like the image he was creating.’

  Jaime sighed. ‘If what you’re wanting to promote is that little-girl look, then go ahead,’ she declared tautly. ‘It’s popular enough, I guess, with the teenage element among our consumers.’

  ‘I see.’ Martin acknowledged the rebuke with a wry tone. ‘You’re saying that our consumers are a little older than that?’

  ‘We aim to reach the twenty to thirty age group, Martin, you know that. And quite honestly, I can’t see our clients dressed in baggy dungarees and frilly miniskirts.’

  ‘Point taken.’ Martin expelled his breath resignedly. ‘So we aim for something a little more sophisticated, but is Berlitz the chap to do it?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Martin.’ Jaime tried to keep the impatience out of her voice. ‘But right now, that’s not my problem.’ She paused. ‘As a matter of fact, something unexpected has com
e up—at home. I’m ringing to ask whether you have any objections if I leave right away.’

  ‘Nothing serious, I hope.’ Martin sounded concerned now. ‘Your housekeeper hasn’t had an accident, has she? It’s so easy to do something silly—–’

  ‘It’s not Mrs Purdom,’ said Jaime firmly. ‘I—– a friend—– a friend has turned up unexpectedly. I think I ought to go and see what she wants.’

  Martin hesitated. ‘It wouldn’t be this—– friend—– from Italy again?’

  ‘What makes you ask that?’

  ‘You do, Jaime, you do. It’s not like you to go rushing off at a moment’s notice. And I can’t think of anyone else, except your mother, who might turn up unexpectedly.’

  ‘I don’t think my mother is likely to do that,’ remarked Jaime tensely, tapping her pen on the blotting pad in front of her. ‘And—– yes, as it happens, it is Signora di Vaggio. I’m sorry, Martin. I know this is a busy time—–’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Martin dismissed her apologies. ‘There’s nothing spoiling here. Just don’t forget about that dinner this evening. I’m depending on you to represent the company.’

  ‘I won’t forget.’ Jaime was relieved. ‘Thanks, Martin. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes.’ Martin paused. ‘You know, we should open an office in Italy. That way you’d be on hand every time this friend of yours gets into difficulties!’

  It was a cold afternoon, and when Jaime left the office, lights were already springing up all over the city. It would soon be Christmas, and the shops were strung with coloured lights, but Jaime was too wrapped up in her own problems to pay much attention to their gay displays.

  Mrs Purdom met her in the hall of the apartment, her homely face flushed and anxious. ‘I’m sorry I had to ring you at the office, Miss Forster,’ she exclaimed, helping Jaime off with her jacket and taking her briefcase. ‘But really, when Signora di Vaggio turned up, I—–’

  ‘That’s all right, Mrs Purdom.’ Jaime mentally steeled herself to face the newcomer. ‘Is—is the signora alone? I mean, she hasn’t brought anyone with her? Not—not a baby, or anything?’

  ‘A baby?’ Mrs Purdom frowned. ‘Oh, no, Miss Forster, she’s quite alone. And—and rather tired, if you don’t mind me saying so. It’s probably been quite a journey for a woman of her age.’

  ‘Of her age!’ Jaime blinked, and passing Mrs Purdom, she quickly thrust open the door of her living room. As she had half suspected, the old Contessa was seated in the armchair beneath the branching standard lamp, and at Jaime’s appearance she came immediately to her feet.

  ‘Good afternoon, signorina,’ she greeted her formally. ‘I hope you will forgive this intrusion. But I wanted to speak to you and I could not entrust what I have to say to the telephone.’

  ‘Contessa!’ The word fell from Jaime’s lips, and hearing it, Mrs Purdom caught her breath behind her.

  ‘I didn’t know—–’ she began, clicking her tongue, and then was silenced by the imperious old lady from across the room.

  ‘Please assure your housekeeper that I am not offended, signorina,’ she declared, addressing herself to Jaime. ‘I seldom use a title when I am travelling abroad. It is of no value, a courtesy thing, no more. I am happy to be Signora di Vaggio, and if she would be so kind I should like the tea now she offered me earlier.’

  Jaime looked at Mrs Purdom and the housekeeper lifted her shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘Tea for two,’ she said, with a wry grimace, and Jaime closed the door behind her as the woman went away.

  ‘You are surprised to see me, signorina.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘But the good—– Mrs Purdom, is it? Si, she telephoned you with the news, did she not?’

  Jaime took a deep breath. ‘She said I had a visitor,’ she murmured weakly. ‘I’m sorry. Do sit down again. I’m sure I must look as foolish as I feel.’

  ‘Foolish? Why should you feel foolish?’ The Contessa subsided again, with evident relief. ‘Perhaps you were expecting someone else, no? Perhaps my arrival is a disappointment.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Jaime shook her head and moved rather unsteadily away from the door. ‘On the contrary, I’m delighted to see you, contessa. I thought—oh, it doesn’t matter what I thought. How are you? Are you well? What are you doing in London?’

  The Contessa regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, and then, when Jaime was beginning to feel uncomfortable, she said: ‘You have lost weight, signorina. You are working too hard.’

  ‘Probably.’ Jaime was grateful for the respite to recover her composure, and managed a faint smile. ‘I’m hoping to take a holiday once Christmas is over. It’s been rather hectic since the holiday season began.’

  ‘You work for a—cosmetics company, do you not?’ the old lady queried, straightening a pleat in her skirt. ‘This work—it means a lot to you, does it not? You have never regretted your decision to choose a career.’

  Jaime worked her way round the couch and sank down on to its soft cushions. ‘Well, almost never,’ she conceded, with a forced attempt at humour. ‘But never mind about me, what are you doing in England? Are you on your way to America?’

  ‘Now why should you think that?’ asked the Contessa, arching her thin aristocratic brows.

  ‘Well, I remember—–’ Jaime paused, and then went on reluctantly: ‘The Christmas Raf spent in England, he—he told me you were visiting some member of your family in San Francisco.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ the old lady nodded. ‘I went to see my brother Enzo that year. His wife had just died. That was why I was away from my own family.’ She hesitated. ‘Otherwise, Rafaello would not have spent Christmas in England.’

  Jaime looked down at her linked fingers. ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Tell me,’ the Contessa spoke urgently, ‘have you heard from Rafaello recently?’

  ‘Heard from Raf—–’ Jaime looked across at her, startled. ‘Why, no. No, of course not. Wh-why should you think I might?’

  The return of Mrs Purdom with the tea tray briefly interrupted their conversation, and while the housekeeper placed the tray on a low table within reach of her mistress, Jaime tried to make sense of what the Contessa was asking. Why should Rafaello’s mother suspect that her son might have been in touch with her? Had he and Nicola split up? And if they had, why would the Contessa come to her, knowing as she did how Jaime felt about Raphael?

  The housekeeper assured herself that they had everything they needed, and then withdrew, leaving Jaime to pour the tea. Her hand shook as she lifted the teapot, but her voice was tolerably steady as she asked the Contessa whether she preferred milk or lemon.

  ‘Oh, milk, please. And a little sugar,’ replied the old lady firmly. ‘An aunt of my father’s introduced me to the English way of taking tea, and I have never had the inclination to try it any other.’

  There were tiny salmon and cucumber sandwiches, and some of Mrs Purdom’s fruit scones, but neither of the women seemed particularly hungry. Rafaello’s mother nibbled on a slice of rich madeira cake, but Jaime eschewed everything, waiting with some impatience for the Contessa to explain herself.

  ‘So—Rafaello has not written to you or telephoned you?’ the old lady asked at last, cradling her cup between her fingers.

  ‘No.’ Jaime was abrupt. ‘You must know he hasn’t. If—if that’s why you’ve come here, then I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.’

  The Contessa sighed. ‘Forgive me, I am explaining myself badly.’ She hesitated. ‘Asking you these questions, Jaime—please, do not regard them as a criticism; rather as a final justification.’

  ‘A justification?’ Jaime was bewildered. ‘A justification for what?’

  ‘For coming here. For bringing you some news, which you may or may not wish to hear.’

  ‘What news?’ Jaime put down her cup and pressed her hands together. ‘I-I suppose Nicola has had the baby. Is that what you came to tell me? Well, why should you think Raf might have bothered to let me know?’

  The Contessa put
down her cup, too, and regarded the girl sitting opposite her with troubled eyes. ‘You do not know?’ she exclaimed. ‘You have not heard?’

  ‘Heard? Heard what?’ Jaime was beside herself. ‘Contessa, I have heard nothing since Nicola rang me to tell me she was moving to the apartment in Rome.’

  ‘Oh—–’ The Contessa cupped her cheek with an astonished hand. ‘But I thought—I assumed—the Temples are friends of yours, are they not?’

  ‘The Temples? Oh, you mean Nicola’s parents. Well—no, not exactly. Nicola and I met at school. I hardly know her parents.’

  ‘So they did not inform you that Nicola—died?’

  Jaime’s shoulders sagged. ‘Nicola—died?’ she echoed faintly. ‘No. No, no one told me anything. Oh God! I had no idea.’

  The Contessa nodded. ‘I did wonder, but then—–’ She spread her hands, ‘I was sure you would hear.’

  ‘No. No, nothing.’ Jaime could feel a faint throbbing starting in her temple as she spoke. ‘When—when did it happen?’

  The old lady folded her hands. ‘The funeral was some six weeks ago.’

  ‘Six weeks!’

  ‘Si. She was buried in the family vault at Vaggio.’

  ‘Six weeks!’ Jaime couldn’t get over it. Then, trying to gather her thoughts, she added: ‘The baby! Had she had the baby? Was it a boy or a girl?’

  ‘A girl,’ the Contessa replied quietly. ‘It lived only minutes after it was delivered.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, poor Nicola!’ Jaime could find it in her heart to pity the girl. ‘She must have been shattered!’

  ‘She did not know,’ said the Contessa gently. ‘She died before the Caesarian operation was carried out—something to do with that miscarriage she had. There was nothing anyone could do.’

  ‘Oh, God! Jaime put her head in her hands. ‘Poor Nicola!’

  ‘It was—tragic,’ agreed the Contessa heavily. ‘Rafaello was with her when she died. He felt somehow responsible, even though he knew Lorenzo had visited her since she went to live at the apartment.’

  ‘Was—was Lorenzo there, too?’